


Like my heart is hitting the ground

by angelheadedhipster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/F/M, cycles 2.0, dusk 2018, hauntedsexy, i watch early seasons of a show and write threesomes, its what I do, sex ghosts, threesomes for mesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster
Summary: “What do you want, anyway?” Bellamy asks, tilting his face up to look at Lexa. His throat is white in the darkness, thick lines of muscle and skin. Clarke thinks about the arteries there, how many she’s seen dripping and severed in the last few weeks. Not Bellamy’s though. Not yet.“To see you,” Lexa says.





	Like my heart is hitting the ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlameBlownWhiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/gifts).



> Takes place roughly during episode 9 of season 2 (“Remember Me,” the one after Finn dies)
> 
> Title comes from the Mitski song "Townie" which is also the first song on the verrrrrry angsty playlist (is it a playlist if its a collection of songs in no order?) that I made myself while writing this. You can find said playlist linked to from the epigraph the beginning of the story!
> 
>  
> 
> Love you, my darling DUSK recipient. As usual, thank you for making me watch something new and cool that I may or may not finish some day.

[ _I want a love that falls as fast as a body from a balcony_ ](https://open.spotify.com/user/126061883/playlist/1oypwIpgkbPihy3L5ypZ58?si=aGHcOFwSQ9y_LIuQB8AKZw)

[ _I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground_ ](https://open.spotify.com/user/126061883/playlist/1oypwIpgkbPihy3L5ypZ58?si=aGHcOFwSQ9y_LIuQB8AKZw)

[ _Holding my breath like a baseball bat but I don’t know what I’m waiting for_ ](https://open.spotify.com/user/126061883/playlist/1oypwIpgkbPihy3L5ypZ58?si=aGHcOFwSQ9y_LIuQB8AKZw)

 

Clarke can feel someone watching her as she wakes up.

It’s quiet; she can feel the forest and the sky, nothing else. Quiet in a way she’s still getting used to, on the ground. She’s cold, and there are twigs sticking into her side. She’s surprised she fell asleep that deeply, but she’s tired all the time now.

Her heart starts racing even as her brain isn’t fully awake, preparing her for the possibility of an unwelcome presence. She turns her head, expecting to see Finn again, his eyes disapproving. There will be no blood on his face, which is how she knows he’s not real.

But it’s not Finn standing over her, a black silhouette under the darkness of the trees. It’s Lexa.

“What-” Clarke says, and trails off before she can formulate any kind of real reaction. She thinks she should be scared, but it’s so quiet. She’s not really awake.

Lexa is smiling, slightly, that inscrutable twist of her mouth that is the only smile Clarke has ever seen on her face. She crouches down, her eyes coming level with Clarke’s as Clarke sits up. Lexa’s face is in shadow, faint moonlight making the planes of her cheeks look ashy.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asks. “Is everything ok?”

She feels rather than hears something stirring next to her, and her heart kicks up a notch before she realizes it’s the person sleeping next to her, awoken by their conversation. It’s one of hers.  Bellamy.

“Come with me,” Lexa says, and she’s looking at Clarke now, not smiling anymore. She’s not wearing the makeup, the sooty war paint, but her eyes are still in shadow.

Bellamy is next to her now, crouched on the ground, warm and large and comforting. Clarke grabs him without looking over, her hand on his wrist, probably gripping hard enough to hurt. She’s so tired. She thinks about Bellamy leaving, going into Mount Weather, about - she can’t. She can’t.

Lexa smiles again, slightly wider this time. Her eyes look like she’s laughing at something. “You can come, too,” she says, to Bellamy now, and she stands up. She looks down at them and then behind, towards the trees, deeper and darker behind them.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, his voice low, rough. She looks over at him, still holding on to his arm. There’s a twig caught in his hair.

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, trying to put authority in her voice, to sound sure. Bellamy looks angry and she recognizes the clench of his jaw, the way he looks when he wants to punch something or someone. But he meets Clarke’s eyes, and she knows he won’t. Bellamy trusts her.

“What do you want, anyway?” Bellamy asks, tilting his face up to look at Lexa. His throat is white in the darkness, thick lines of muscle and skin. Clarke thinks about the arteries there, how many she’s seen dripping and severed in the last few weeks. Not Bellamy’s though. Not yet.

“To see you,” Lexa says.

“See us?” Clarke says.

Lexa looks down at her, a considering expression on her face. “I could not sleep,” she says. “I came out to see my people, and to see you. I did not mean to wake you.”

 _To see you._ Clarke thinks about that.

“It’s good,” Lexa continues. “A warrior must always be ready, must be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.” She’s looking down at them, and Clarke can’t see her eyes.

“Are we fighting?” Bellamy asks, deadpan.

Lexa meets his eyes. “Not with me,” says. “We are allied now, are we not?” There’s a pause after she says that, as if she’s waiting for something, but Clarke doesn’t know what.

Lexa shifts. “Come with me. I want to know the people whose lives I am risking my kru for.”

Without waiting for any kind of answer, Lexa turns, away from them. Clarke looks at Bellamy, briefly. It’s too dark to make out his expression, but she knows she wants to follow, and she’s pretty sure he won’t fight her on this.

 

Clarke relaxes her hold on his wrist, and stands up, Bellamy a looming shadow rising with her. Lexa starts walking, and when Clarke moves to follow, Bellamy matches her stride, a step behind. She follows Lexa, and Bellamy follows her. She feels pulled in both directions, wanting to catch Lexa and wanting not to leave Bellamy too far behind.

Lexa leads them past the edge of camp, a few steps into the woods. It’s darker here, and Clarke’s hand brushes against Bellamy’s. His hand flexes and she feels it pull away from hers, towards the gun he took with him. She looks to the right, to the left, and then ahead again. Finn is on their left, looking brighter than the trees around them. He watches her walk past him, silent as always. Clarke looks at Lexa instead.

Lexa leads them to a clearing, barely a meadow at all, maybe ten feet in diameter. She sits, her back against a fallen log, and looks up at the sky.

Clarke feels Bellamy stop behind her, a sense of coiled motion. She is surprised when he moves past her, sits next to Lexa. They both look up at Clarke, twin dark eyes, their mouths shadowed in the moonlight.

“What are we doing here?” Clarke asks. She’s scanning the grass around them, even as she speaks, looking for grounders in hiding, traps, something.

“Sitting,” Lexa replies. Clarke hears a little bit of a laugh, and she’s not sure if it came from Lexa or Bellamy.

Clarke doesn’t trust this, doesn’t trust any of this, but she can’t see any threats and she’s here now, and Bellamy seems to be here, so, ok.

She sits.  


They end up talking for - Clarke doesn’t know how long, but a long time. Clarke had started facing the two of them, some space between, but somehow now she’s leaning against Bellamy’s side. She can’t stop touching him, she realizes, and she doesn’t think about how little time they’ll have left, how many reasons they may have to stop.

Lexa’s leg is against Clarke’s, loose and just barely touching. Lexa looks more relaxed than Clarke has ever seen her - it makes her realize how carefully Lexa holds herself normally, how deliberate she is. She’s just as beautiful in the dark, the shadows slipping across her face. Clarke feels herself getting sleepy, watches Lexa grin at Bellamy as he says something.

Bellamy’s chin is in his hand, his elbow on his knee, his whole body leaning into Clarke even as his other hand rests less than an inch away from Lexa. Clarke has been watching that hand for some time now, without meaning to. She wonders if Bellamy will move it, if he’ll close the distance.

They’re talking about parents now, Clarke realizes as she drifts back in to the conversation. Bellamy is talking about his mom, about Octavia. Things Clarke knows but hasn’t talked to him about. They don’t talk so much, she realizes, her and Bellamy. Or, they are always talking, but it’s usually halfway to an argument, or two equally steely voices reminding each other of what has to happen now, the next horrible decision they have to make, the pieces they have to pick up from their last decision.

She reaches for him, thinking of that, her fingers twining into the corner his shirt. He’s the only one who knows what it’s like, now, for her. For them. How much of her time is spent in fear not for her own life but for her people. The weight of it, a nearly constant pressure. Part of her mind is always counting, analyzing, plotting, wondering what the next danger is. Bellamy does that, too. He’s the one who understands, the only one.

Her gaze shifts to Lexa, now, Lexa’s head cocked as she listens to Bellamy. Not the only one who understands, Clarke thinks. Lexa knows. She’s probably better at it then they are.

Clarke knows she shouldn’t trust Lexa, and she doesn’t. But she likes being here.

Clarke shivers in the night air, a second of movement, and both Lexa and Bellamy turn to look at her, eyes inquisitive. Bellamy leans into her, warm and solid at her side.

   
The sky is starting to get light by the time they walk back to camp. They have to be careful, quiet, their people starting to stir. Clarke feels like a kid, like she’s on the Ark sneaking back into her room without the adults noticing, staying out too late or having parties with stolen alcohol. The feeling hangs over her like an ill fitting coat. Like a different world superimposed over her own.

She lies down next to Bellamy, their bedrolls where they left them. Bellamy’s face seems lighter in the dim pale light, like he relaxed, too.

Clarke can’t lose him. She falls back asleep with her hand reaching toward him, not touching,  less than an inch between her fingers and his skin.

 

+++

 

She wishes she’d slept more, the next day, walking into the village.

They burn Finn’s body. Her hand is clasped tightly over Lexa’s on the torch. Clarke is incredibly aware of where their skin touches, and thinks of her own grip on Bellamy’s wrist the night before.

Lexa tells her about Costia. Tells her that love is weakness, something to protect herself against. It will get her people killed.

Clarke sees Finn everywhere.

Then Gustus almost dies from drinking poison - poison found on Raven’s body. The grounders tie Raven to a post, Lexa’s hands on her sword, cutting big swaths into Raven’s skin, blood oozing out in clumps. It looks darker than it should be.

It’s Clarke who realizes that the poison was in the cup, not the drink. and Bellamy who realizes that Gustus put it there. There’s some shouting, and then, eventually, Lexa backs up, impossibly graceful, and stabs her long sword into Gustus’s heart. It shines in the sun, and it seems to take a long time for the sword to go all the way in.

Clarke hears her mother, whispering to Kane, that they’re not so different. She feels sick to her stomach. She knows her hands are clean, knows the blood has long since been washed off, but she can still see it, running across her wrists, her elbows. Sticking to her hair. The knife in her hand.

Weakness.

 

+++

 

She’s so tired that night but she wakes up anyway, on her own. She stares at the sky and hears Jasper’s voice crackle in her mind - “We don't know how much time we have left, please hurry.” Bellamy saying “He’d do anything for her, to protect her.” Lexa, explaining what happened to Costia, “because she was mine.”

It’s colder tonight, or she’s colder. She’s exhausted, she knows she should sleep, but she’s awake now. The moon is brighter and she feels energy running through her, under her skin and through it. Her eyes feel like they are open very wide.

She shifts on her sleeping roll, rolls her head back and forth, turns until she’s lying on her back with her head twisted to her left. Bellamy is there, sleeping next to her, closer to her than last night. She can feel the warmth he gives off, this close, a feeling of softness in the air around him. She wants to be closer.

He’s so incredibly handsome, Clarke thinks. It looks unreal. She watches the lines of his face, his long eyelashes against his cheek, the rise and fall of his throat as he breathes. She wouldn’t be here without him. None of them would be. Bellamy kept them alive, all of the Ark kids that were left, and he kept doing it, kept running and pushing through and fighting and trying. He pushed her, too, made her think better, kept challenging her, and he wouldn’t let her get away with things. And now she was sending him into Mount Weather, and he was going to go. He didn’t stop, he never stopped. She might lose him, and it would hurt so much. Like hollowing out her insides. She tries to imagine it, Bellamy lost, dying, not coming out of Mount Weather, and she can’t even picture it. Her mind just shuts that thought down, dark.

Clarke moves again, moves against her pillow, untwists the shirt around her. Bellamy’s eyes are flickering now, like he’s waking up, but Clarke is thinking about Lexa, behind them. About Gustus, about what they did that day, everything they said. Clarke isn’t asleep but she’s drifting, her mind unmoored, for once, from the practical.  She thinks about last night, looking up at the sky, about Bellamy’s fingers, the hollow of Lexa’s throat.

Suddenly, she’s done thinking. She stops moving. She doesn’t want to lie here, thinking about mistakes and sacrifices and the losses in her future. If she has to give people up, she’s going to have them now. Make them hers so they can’t not be.

Bellamy’s eyes are open now. He’s watching her watch him, his eyes slightly unfocused, still coming out of sleep.

She reaches towards him, hand cold in the dirt, putting her hand on his cheek. She traces the line of his cheekbone with her fingertip, then runs her thumb across his chin, along his jawbone.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches her. He’s breathing a little deeper, a little faster, and his mouth drops open, just a little bit. Clarke runs her thumb along his lower lip, full and plush, feels its softness under the pad of her finger.

She’s wanted to do that for a long time, she realizes.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, and she moves her thumb away as his mouth moves. She can feel the heat of his breath against her face, that’s how close they are. “Come on.”

He starts to sit up, and he has that look that she recognizes all too well, determined, resolved. That’s what he looks like when he can’t be stopped. She knows that look - she’s been the one telling him to go, and the one who tries to stop him, too.

“What?” Clark says, her voice low in the stillness of the camp. No one else appears to be awake, even if they weren’t asleep very long at all. “Where?”

Bellamy grips her arm, his fingers slightly too tight as he pulls her upright. She’s focused on that, on the sensation of his hand on hers, the strength in his grip. She feels the pain, the pressure of fingers, even as he pulls her along. He’s right here.

They’re in front of Lexa’s hut now, or tent. Whatever she calls it. Bellamy doesn’t let go.

Clarke is breathing faster, she realizes. She doesn’t know what she wants to happen, exactly. She feels...she feels so many different things, all at once  - anticipation, excitement, fear, everything else. It’s so strong and bright that it could pour out of her skin.

Lexa’s awake, it’s clear, a light coming from inside. Clarke doesn’t know what Lexa does with her evenings, or her nights. Probably Lexa has a lot to think about.

Lexa comes to the doorway before Bellamy can knock. Her facepaint is still on, smeared and faded, her eyes even more shadowed in the torchlight.

Clarke is standing closer to the entrance, so Lexa sees her first. She smiles, that same inscrutable sideways smile she always has. Bellamy shifts and moves into the light, and Lexa’s eyebrows rise on her face as she sees him. It makes her look very human, Clarke thinks.

Clarke feels like she’s vibrating out of her skin.

Bellamy is silent beside her, unmoving. Clarke shoots a quick look at him - this was his idea, anyway. Mostly. Though it was she who woke up, she who reached out...

“Hey,” Clarke says, looks Lexa in the eye.

Lexa inclines her head. “Come in.”

Clarke walks forward, but Bellamy doesn’t. Clarke starts to turn around, to ask him what he wants, what they’re _doing_ here, when Lexa says, “You, too.” Bellamy smiles at Lexa, as he ducks his head slightly, his eyes shadowed by his hair.  

Inside, it feels different than it did the night before. More charged, or something. Clarke doesn’t know what is going to happen, or she can’t know. Her thoughts stutter when she starts to think about it. She’s been touching Bellamy all night, she realizes. Lexa still has that not-smile playing around her mouth, and Clarke doesn’t know what it means.

Now that Clarke’s here, she- she’s not sure what she wanted, what she’s chosen. Is choosing. What Bellamy has chosen.

Clarke hasn’t seen Finn all night, she realizes.

There’s a moment of silence, a pause. No one says anything, and Clarke has a moment of uncertainty, wonders what they are doing here. Maybe Lexa thinks they are going to talk strategy, or confront her about the poison, or -

Lexa moves first, with her unmistakable striking grace. She’s standing close to Clarke now, and she reaches out, puts her hand on Clarke’s neck. She trails her fingers down, across Clarke’s collarbone. It feels like lines of fire across Clarke’s skin, warmth and pressure, and Lexa’s face is so close now, it’s right there-

Clarke kisses her, fast and hard and desperate. Lexa meets her. Lexa kisses like she’s chasing Clarke down, like she can capture her.

Bellamy starts, takes a step back. Maybe he’s just surprised, but Clarke grabs him, feels her fingers digging into his shoulder, the thick muscle there.

“Don’t-don’t go,” she says, pulling away from Lexa, breath coming fast. “Please.”

Bellamy’s eyes are huge in the dark, and he nods, staring at her, and through her, at Lexa, who’s hand remains on Clarke’s shoulder even as she steps away. Bellamy mouth is slightly open, again, and his lips are _unreal_ , so Clarke kisses him, feels Lexa’s hand run down her back.

Bellamy kisses her carefully; she can feel each individual twitch of his lips, the muscles that flutter at the corners of his mouth. It’s careful, until it’s not, until his tongue pushes through her lips and her defenses, and she’s drowning in him. His hand grips her shoulder, pinning her in place, even as Lexa runs her fingertips in skittering lines up and down Clarke’s spine.

Bellamy’s teeth scrape across her lip. Clarke feels heat pooling in her stomach, then the muscles on either side of her hips tightening, that whooshing feeling that she associates with sex.

Fuck, _fuck_ . What is she _doing._

She flashes back to the last time she had sex, with Finn in the bunker - FINN.

Her body freezes, and she gasps, into Bellamy’s mouth and then into the cool air as he pulls away from her.

When her eyes refocus Lexa and Bellamy are both touching her, fingers on her shoulders, her arm, her ribs, but they’ve backed away, slightly. They’re looking at each other, a conversation Clarke isn’t part of. She tries to breathe.

“It’s ok, Clarke,” Bellamy says. He looks over to her, his hand cupping her chin, and she feels that same overwhelming mix of emotions as before. Adoration, and then regret, and excitement and terror. She feels like she misses him, desperately, even as he’s right in front of her.

She’s staring at Bellamy, seeing every curve on his face and not seeing him at all, when Lexa’s hand moves, running down her shoulder. Clarke breaks eye contact with Bellamy, watches Lexa’s hands as they trace every part of her. It feels possessive, claiming. Clarke doesn’t dislike it.

Clarke’s mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out. She’s not sure what she is trying to say, anyway. Every breath feels scorching, feels significant, and she wants to be touched but she can’t _think_.

Bellamy looks at her, traces his eyes up and down her body with a considering look on his face that Clarke knows is the closest he gets to looking uncertain. His fingers trail down her arm until he’s holding her hand, fingers slotting together, gripping her.

Bellamy looks at Lexa, and she tilts her head to look at him. Clarke catches a smirk at the corner of Lexa’s lips, and then Lexa and Bellamy are kissing.

Bellamy is still gripping Clarke’s fingers, and Lexa’s hand rests on her shoulder. Clarke feels like she can breathe, for a moment. Lexa and Bellamy look good together, twisted in each other. There’s a ruthlessness to both of them, she thinks, a selfishness they wear proudly. They’re pushing each other now, little gasps emerging from Lexa as Bellamy lunges towards her, his hand snaking across her shoulders and pulling her in on a moan.

Clarke lets it wash over her, watching, listening to the sounds they make. Arousal builds in her stomach, in her clit, and she squirms, the movement catching Bellamy and Lexa’s attention. They break apart, slowly, moving towards each other to kiss and suck on each others’ lips even as they finally break apart.

Bellamy looks at Clarke, and then around the hut. He cocks an eyebrow at Lexa, and gestures with his head towards her bed.

Lexa smiles and nods, and leans in, nips at the line of Clarke’s jaw before backing away. She starts to take off her (sort of terrifyingly complicated) clothes, and Bellamy leads Clarke over to Lexa’s bed. He’s still gripping her hand.

Lexa watches them, her eyes dark, as Bellamy runs his hands across Clarke’s skin, pushes her gently back. It’s not that warm in the hut, but warming up.

Bellamy’s eyes are so big, so dark in his face.

“I...Do you…” Clarke says, and she tries to relax, to lie back into the cushions Lexa has.

Bellamy’s hand is on her hip, her pelvis, trailing lower.

‘Can I?” he asks. He bites his lower lip, his eyes on her, and Clarke imagines her own teeth biting on that spot, feels his fingers trace patterns down her thighs.

She nods.

Bellamy peels off the leggings she’s wearing, slow and deliberate. Clarke crosses her arms and takes off her shirt from the bottom, mostly because she needs a moment not to be looking down, needs to breathe without the sight of Bellamy looking up at her as his long fingers stroke towards her clit, sure and commanding.

The night air is cool on her bare chest, on her stomach. She can feel Bellamy circling her pussy and his finger brushes across her clit so quickly and firmly that she gasps, her eyes closing.

It’s easier, somewhat, with her eyes closed, and also completely overwhelming. In the dark behind her eyes every shift of Bellamy’s fingers feels explosive, like she’s seeing fireworks behind her eyes. She feels warmth above her, and then fingers tracing down her chest, stroking her chest and then cupping her breast. Clarke’s eyes fly open at the feeling of warmth and wetness on her nipple, and she sees the top of Lexa’s head, her braid and her curls bobbing as Lexa licks and laves at Clarke’s nipple.

It’s a lot to take in all at once, and Clarke feels like her brain shorts out, reactions no longer making any kind of sense. She gasps, and her body arches without her conscious control, pushing her clit towards Bellamy’s fingers, her shoulder blades digging into the bed as she moves more into Lexa’s mouth. She hears what might be a chuckle from Lexa, and feels the sharp brush of teeth, not on her nipple, but beside it, hot pricks of sensation that wash through Clarke.

She’s spiralling higher and it’s all happening so _fast_. Even if she’d dared to imagine this happening, she never could have pictured this, the sound of Lexa’s tongue as it moves across her skin, the feel of Bellamy’s hand, his eyes watching her as she bucks and moans. Clarke feels unmoored and trapped, safe and completely on edge.

She gasps and moans and moves her torso into Lexa, wanting more pressure and sensation where Lexa’s mouth is, her nipple peaking in the cold air. Lexa complies, for a moment, before lifting her head and grinning at Clarke, wicked and smug. She sits up, slightly, and Clarke misses her mouth for almost half a second, until Bellamy’s fingers are inside of her and she’s gasping.

Lexa has Clarke’s right nipple between two fingers, squeezing and pulling and she leans down to kiss Clarke, sloppy and with too much tongue. Clarke can barely hang on, clutching at Lexa’s braids, her other hand making twists of the sheets. She tries to focus, tries to respond, but then she feels Bellamy’s fingers shift and there’s warmth and pressure and wetness on her clit. It’s amazing, the sense of rightness as Bellamy licks into her, and Clarke is trying so hard to stay there, to stay tethered but she _can’t_.

Clarke comes, shuddering and writhing as Lexa holds her down and Bellamy’s tongue caresses her through it. It goes on _forever_.

  


It’s like that, for awhile. Clarke tries to be present, to participate, to give as good as she gets but it’s _so much._ Multiple orgasms, and they all feel ripped out of her, the buildup sharp and dizzyingly fast. She’s loud, she knows, and she’d be embarrassed about it if she could _think_.

Bellamy and Lexa seem to love it. Clarke gets the feeling they are competing, maybe, or conspiring to get her off. She has some vague idea that it’s not fair, that they should come, too, but before she can do anything about it someone’s touching her, fingers and tongues and she’s gone, again, awash in sensation that only builds.

She’s in free fall.

Clakrke’s come four times, or something like that, by the time she has enough presence of mind to notice how hard Bellamy is. Suddenly there’s nothing she’s ever wanted more than his dick in her mouth. Clarke reaches for him, hands clutching at the cuts on his hips as she sits up, going to her knees when he stands next to the bed. Lexa is behind her, watching as Clarke swallows Bellamy down, as Bellamy grunts and his eyelids twitch, his wet fingers on her shoulder, in her hair.

Lexa reaches her arms across Clarke’s shoulders, drapes herself across Clarke’s back and strokes and cups her breasts, pinches her nipples. Clarke moans, the vibrations echoing around Bellamy’s dick and he groans in response, fingers pulling at her hair, and it’s like every reaction pushes her higher. It’s a loop, each response from one of them triggering her own responses, and she feels overwhelmed again, overwhelmed but FOCUSED, twisting her hand and leaning back into Lexa until - and it doesn’t take very long at all - Bellamy comes in her mouth.

She doesn’t want this to end. She wants to stay here as long as she can.

Clarke feels like she could probably come again but she can’t even fully imagine it, at this point, doesn’t think her body could handle it. Lexa pulls her shoulders around to reach Clarke’s mouth, and Clarke knows she can taste Bellamy on Clarke’s tongue. Clarke is kissing her but also cataloging Lexa’s reactions. Lexa is flushed, sweaty, but still smiling, still smug. She seems in control, and Clarke doesn’t want that. Bellamy is slumped against the bed behind her, fingers trailing through her hair over and over, and Clarke breaks the kiss to look at him.

Bellamy post-orgasm is a vision, his cheeks ever so slightly pink, his lips puffy and red, glistening in the firelight. He looks woozy, like he might fall over, but happy, happy and content in a way Clarke’s not sure she’s ever seen. She has to kiss him, she has to, even as she thinks about Lexa.

Clarke wants to get Lexa to come, yes, but mostly she wants to break that control. To make Lexa fall apart like Clarke did so many times. To make Lexa _hers_.

It takes concentrated teamwork, and Bellamy rallies admirably, his mouth on Lexa and his fingers inside her, fast and hard as Clarke pulls her hair back and kisses her like her life depends on it. Lexa shudders under her and Clarke realizes that right now is the first time, all night, that she isn’t touching Bellamy.  

She doesn’t have time to think about that because Lexa makes a sound, like she’s cracking open, and goes rigid, stiff for several seconds before groaning and melting into the bed. Her hips stutter and jerk into Bellamy’s mouth and Clarke grins.

Lexa’s collapse seems to break the spell, or maybe they’re all just tired. Bellamy crawls his way onto the bed, landing with his head almost in Lexa’s lap as Clarke scoots in next to her. She’s not sure which of them reaches, only that she and Bellamy are clutching at each other’s hands, Bellamy’s fingers slippery in hers.

They lie there for an incalculable period of time. She feels like her brain synapses are knitting themselves back together. She’s thirsty, and she’s a little sore, and she’s so tired.

Clarke opens her eyes in time to watch Lexa’s flutter open. Clarke can almost see the moment when Lexa decides to take control again, to come back to herself and put her armor back on. Lexa is still naked, but Clarke thinks that was the last moment of vulnerability Lexa was going to allow.

Back to reality, she thinks, as Lexa gets up and walks over to her clothes, starts putting them back on.

It’s late, Clarke thinks, and she can’t imagine that Lexa sleeps in her battle dress. But that’s what she puts on. Clarke doesn’t ask.

Clarke squeezes Bellamy’s hand, and when she turns towards him he’s looking at her. He looks nervous, for a moment, and Clarke didn’t think she had anything left to feel but she does.

“I think,” she says, and stops. “I didn’t know, I don’t…”

“I couldn’t let you go alone,” Bellamy says, and his voice is hoarse but that usual determination is there.

“You don’t trust her,” Clarke says, quiet, low. “Even now.”

Bellamy licks his lips, lips where Lexa was, moments ago. “Do you?”

Clarke sighs, and stares at the ceiling for a moment, but it’s time to go. Bellamy is getting up, tugging her with him. Clarke’s head is buzzing, and she’s so tired. She doesn’t particularly want to go back outside, into the cold, but they can’t stay here. She knows that.

Lexa isn’t looking at them. Clarke thinks she could make her, probably, but she’s tired. She doesn’t want another fight, another conversation, another minefield of shifting alliances.  

Bellamy is holding out Clarke’s shirt and she puts it on, pulls on her tights. Bellamy is mostly dressed, and seems uncertain about his overshirt. He’s still flushed, probably still sweating. They’re standing close.

Clarke starts to think about tomorrow night, how he - but she stops.

Bellamy can figure out his own shirt later. Clarke grabs his wrist, tugs him towards the door. Lexa is mostly dressed now, and is inspecting something on her gauntlet, still not looking at them.

Clarke stops in front of Lexa, watches as Lexa reluctantly raises her head to meet her eyes.

“Good night,” Clarke says in what is probably atrocious Trigedasleng. She kisses Lexa on the cheek, a quick motion, backing away like she worries Lexa will stab her back.

Behind her, Bellamy laughs, or something that might be a sigh. Lexa’s eyes are darting between them, but she isn’t giving anything away.

Clarke knows she’s clutching at Bellamy, knows her grip is too tight, but it’s the only thing that can get her to the door, get them out into the night.

He doesn’t let go, even as they walk back to their spot. The night is darker now, the moon set. It’s cold.

Clarke wonders, idly, if any of this will make any difference to their future, to the ways they still have to twist around each other, around Lexa, around their shaky alliance and the decisions they will have to make.

It doesn’t really matter, though. She falls asleep on her bedroll, Bellamy on his, their bodies facing each other and their fingers intertwined.


End file.
